


An Apple Pie a Day Keeps the Russians Away

by Anonymous



Category: Not If I Save You First - Ally Carter
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: April 12, 1945. Maddie's father has the day off from work and takes her on an educational visit to the Capitol...and they just happen to meet the vice president and his daughter while they're there. (Somehow, Maddie's not convinced it's a coincidence.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	An Apple Pie a Day Keeps the Russians Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nerissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerissa/gifts).



> With many thanks to Morbane for betaing!

Fidgeting in her seat, Maddie adjusted the skirt of her new two-piece suit. It had been a Christmas gift from her father, who said that now that she was sixteen, she needed some more grown-up clothes. She appreciated the thought, but she would rather have had something sparkly or shiny, instead of just tweed wool.

Even better would have been a dress with a full skirt that she could twirl, but she hadn't had one of those since she was twelve and the U.S. entered the war. But at least it was pink. Her father knew her too well to get anything that wasn't.

"Was this really the most interesting thing you could think of for us to do on your day off?" Maddie whispered to her father. She tugged again at her skirt, which seemed all too inclined to squash itself into woolly lumps between her and the hard wooden Senate gallery seat.

The lady to her left harrumphed, apparently of the opinion that even a whisper was too loud, and Maddie glared back.

"I thought it would be educational," her father murmured. His voice was quiet enough that the lady didn't glare at him. Maddie wondered whether that was because Secret Service agents were taught the best way to whisper. She wondered whether there _was_ a best way to whisper.

Maddie looked out at the room below them, where a collection of men in dark suits were sitting at desks. One of them seemed to be asking permission to make a speech. "Thank you, Mr. President," he said, and started talking about the price of grain in Ohio.

"That's not President Roosevelt," Maddie whispered. "Why'd he call him 'Mr. President'?"

"That's Vice President Truman," her father replied. "The vice president is president of the Senate, so the senators address him as 'Mr. President'. It's part of parliamentary procedure."

"Okay, I've learned something," Maddie said. "Can we go somewhere else now?"

"Not quite yet. We'll stay until the Senate adjourns, and then get something to eat afterwards."

Maddie shrugged and kicked her legs against her seat, ignoring the harrumphs of the lady next to her. The senator from Ohio had moved on to talking about cattle.

"Are you here to keep an eye on the vice president?" Maddie whispered after she had been quiet and patient for nearly ten minutes. (The senator was still engrossed in his cattle, and she didn't think the other senators looked much more interested than she felt.) "I thought the Secret Service only watches the president and his family."

"Don't be silly," her father whispered back, his voice perfectly pitched to reach her ear and not one inch farther. "Why would I do that? I know you think everybody would be safer if they had me with them, but I'm sure the vice president will be completely fine without my help. And so will his daughter."

"His daughter?"

Her father pointed at a young woman sitting in the front row of the next gallery over. "Miss Margaret Truman. She's a few years older than you, attending George Washington University."

"So are you here to keep an eye on _her_?"

Maddie's father chuckled. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want to take my daughter out for a nice time?"

"And you thought that _I_ would think that watching a speech about cows was the nicest time possible?"

The lady to Maddie's left shifted in her seat and cleared her throat pointedly. Maddie's father raised an eyebrow but didn't answer, turning instead to face front and feign complete attention to the senator from Ohio. Maddie noticed that his position left both Vice President Truman and Margaret Truman within his field of view, though. She crossed her arms and remained unconvinced that her father cared one whit about agriculture prices in the Midwest.

An hour later, the speeches finally came to a halt as Vice President Truman dismissed the Senate for the day. Maddie kicked her feet against her seat a few times as she waited for her father to stand up, but he still seemed engrossed in whatever was happening on the floor. The annoyed lady didn't wait for them to move, but stood up immediately and pushed past them with a snorted "hmmph". Maddie kept waiting, and eventually, a moment after Margaret Truman stood up in the next gallery over and began to exit, Maddie's father finally got to his feet and headed up the steps of the gallery. Maddie grinned, smoothing her skirts as she stood up in turn. Whatever had made her father decide to come to the Senate today, she felt quite certain it had more to do with the vice president than it had to do with cows from Ohio.

Maddie's father offered her his arm at the top of the gallery stairs, and together they trailed Margaret Truman down the outer stairs and into the building's main thoroughfare, maintaining a discreet distance all the while. "So now that I've been educated, are you going to buy me something to eat?" Maddie asked, watching tourists stream by in far more of a hurry than her father seemed to be.

Ahead of them, Margaret turned abruptly, crossing the corridor to greet her father as he came through a side door. Maddie's father halted in turn, quickly steering Maddie towards one of the paintings that lined the wall and gesturing at it absently. "Pretty," he said, his body angled so that he might plausibly be admiring the art but was almost definitely watching the Trumans.

Maddie rolled her eyes and glared at the painting. "Dad, if you're not working you shouldn't ignore me, and if you _are_ working, you should tell me. So are we going to get dessert or are you too busy lurking?"

He chuckled. "I suppose I could buy you something to eat on the way home. On the off chance that you're right about other things I'm doing, I'd rather not talk about that, but perhaps we could wait a few minutes more before we go."

"And then pie?"

"And then pie." He pointed at the painting again. "Those are very pretty colors."

Maddie stepped closer to the wall, where she could not only see the artwork (some kind of abstract floral design that she supposed was attractive, though not shiny enough for her taste) but also see past it to the Trumans.

Shortly, two other men joined the Trumans. They shook hands all round and headed back down the hall, which just happened to bring them closer to where the Manchesters were standing. As they approached, one of the newcomers raised an eyebrow at Maddie's father, and then his face broke out into surprise that Maddie was pretty sure was feigned. "Manchester, good to see you!" he said. "Touring the Capitol?"

Maddie's father stepped forward, arm around Maddie's shoulders. "I thought it might be fun and educational. This is my daughter, Madeleine. I took her out of school for the day to show her how our legislative system works. Maddie, this is Bill Weatherley. Of course the president has the ultimate authority over my assignments, but for all practical purposes, Bill's my boss."

Maddie extended a hand to Mr. Weatherley and he shook it. "Nice to meet you, Miss Manchester," he said. "I hope you're having a nice time on your day off. It's my day off too"—somehow, Maddie was inclined to doubt this claim just as much as she doubted her father's similar claim—"and I thought I might as well make a few visits. May I introduce Harry Truman, our vice president? I was just telling him that maybe your father and I might have to guard him someday, though I do hope that won't be any time in the next four years."

"Pleasure," the vice president murmured as he shook Maddie's hand in turn, then put a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "My daughter, Margaret Truman. She's eighteen, and you are...?"

"Sixteen," Maddie said, shaking hands with Margaret. "Nice to meet you, Miss Truman," she said, and smiled and nodded as Margaret replied similarly.

"And last but not least, Sam Rayburn, Speaker of the House," Mr. Weatherley continued.

"Mr. Rayburn's role in the House is similar to Mr. Truman's role in the Senate," Maddie's father explained as Maddie extended a hand to the Speaker.

Mr. Rayburn had a practiced politician's grip, firm but polite. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Manchester," he said. "I hope you've had an educational visit."

"Oh, extremely," Maddie said, hoping her sarcasm wasn't immediately obvious.

"I had just asked the Trumans to join me for a chat and drinks," Mr. Rayburn continued. "You're all welcome to join us as well, if you wish." He chuckled. "Who wouldn't feel safer having a couple of sturdy Secret Service men accompanying them, isn't that right, ladies?"

Margaret allowed that she certainly wouldn't feel unsafe in such circumstances, and Maddie nodded with a bit of a shrug. She'd always figured that she was quite capable of keeping herself safe without any outside interference. Her father had taught her to shoot on her eighth birthday and she'd gotten quite a bit of practice with his service revolver in the years since then. On the other hand, she didn't have a gun at the moment, while she strongly suspected that both her father and his boss were armed.

Which, of course, raised the question: why? As far as Maddie was aware, the war was going well, and had been for over a year, ever since D-Day had finally turned the tide. Everyone said that the Allies would be in Berlin before the summer was over. So why would the Secret Service be worried now? Was Germany planning some sort of last gasp attack, and had they somehow managed to insinuate spies into the United States? She would have thought that that would be rather difficult, with an entire ocean between them, and the Coast Guard and Navy on alert for submarines.

As she wondered about this, she trailed after the others down the main hall, around a corner, down another hall, and into a tucked-away corner room full of leather furniture. "Bourbon all right with you fellas?" Mr. Rayburn asked as he opened a cabinet. "I'm afraid we don't often entertain young lady guests here so I don't have any soda pop or whatever it is that young people prefer these days, but I could probably mix up a non-alcoholic cocktail."

Maddie flounced onto one of the leather sofas and smoothed her skirt. "That would be lovely, thank you," she said in her most grown-up voice. At least Margaret wasn't being offered alcohol either, and she was old enough to drink legally. If it had only been Maddie being treated like a kid, she would have felt a lot more annoyed.

Mr. Rayburn started to set out glasses on an ornate end table when a phone rang in the corner of the room. "I hope that's not someone wanting to talk business," he said. "I'm all done with business for the day."

The faces of both Mr. Weatherley and Maddie's father had gone very still as they watched Mr. Rayburn. Maddie wondered if they had been expecting a phone call. But surely German saboteurs wouldn't phone first?

"Hello?" Mr. Rayburn listened for a moment, then turned to the vice president. "It's for you."

After Mr. Truman took the phone, there was complete silence in the room for several breaths. Maddie noticed the Speaker exchanging glances with both of the Secret Service agents, and wondered if they knew what this was all about. Margaret, at least, looked as puzzled as Maddie felt.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Mr. Truman said, and hung up the phone. Maddie wondered if it was her imagination or if he looked paler than he had a minute ago. "That was Steve Early," he said. "I'm needed at the White House right away."

"I can drive you," Mr. Weatherley said promptly.

"Thank you, I would appreciate that," Mr. Truman said. "Margaret, I—do you mind staying here? Perhaps you and Miss Manchester could get better acquainted. Manchester, would you mind if my daughter joined you and your daughter for the evening?"

"Not at all," Maddie's father said, equally promptly. Maddie wondered if he'd been expecting this. She wondered what _this_ was.

The vice president picked up his coat and turned to his daughter. "This is probably nothing," he said. "The president's probably just come back unexpectedly from Warm Springs and wants to meet with me."

Margaret hugged her father goodbye. "That's unusual," she said. "I hope it's nothing too terrible."

He kissed the top of her head. "I hope so too."

Maddie hoped so just as much as they did, but she was very much inclined to doubt it. If it was so unusual for the vice president to be summoned to the White House, it was probably over something more important than President Roosevelt just wanting to offer him a cup of tea. Had the Axis had a D-Day of their own? Had bombs somehow reached America?

The vice president turned back at the door for one last glance back at Margaret, and his face was gray. All of a sudden, Maddie realized that there was still another reason why he might be summoned unexpectedly to the White House. If that was what her father and the others feared, it would explain why two Secret Service men were hanging about the vice president when guarding him wasn't normally their duty, and it would explain why everyone looked so worried. Maddie found herself blinking back tears, and told herself firmly that there was probably another explanation. President Roosevelt had been around for as long as Maddie could remember and he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. He was probably just fine; he'd just come back unexpectedly or something, like Vice President Truman had said.

The door closed behind Mr. Truman and Mr. Weatherley. Maddie turned to her father, but she didn't think it would be appropriate to directly ask him if the vice president was about to become the president in front of the daughter of the man in question. "Is everything all right?" she asked instead.

"I don't see why not," her father said, leaning against the back of one of the leather chairs (in a position that left his right hand free and gave him a good view of the door, Maddie noted). "There's always something to be worried about these days, what with the war and all, but it's probably fine."

"You were already worried before my father received that phone call," Margaret put in. "Did you know he was going to be summoned to the White House? When that's happened only a scant handful of times in the three months that he's been vice president?"

"Perhaps," Maddie's father said. The corner of his mouth twitched as he waved off the glass of alcohol that the Speaker was holding out to him.

"Did he ask you to stay with me to protect me?"

"I don't know; he didn't say."

"I don't think he had to say," Margaret said firmly. "I think that whatever's going on, you already know something about it. And I don't think you're off duty, either."

"Well, unfortunately I am technically off duty," Maddie's father said. "As in I'm not getting paid. But my boss asked me to help him keep an eye on things just in case, and I like to do what my boss asks."

"So what's happening?" Margaret had a really good glare that combined well with a raised eyebrow; Maddie resolved to practice it in a mirror sometime.

"I don't know. There may not be anything happening." Both girls glared at him, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "But it's not what's happening that matters, but whether the enemy thinks that something's happening."

"Which enemy?" Maddie piped up.

Maddie's father glanced at her. "I should probably tell you I'm not at liberty to discuss this."

"But Mr. Rayburn was just telling us—right before we met you—that everything discussed in this room is strictly off the record," Margaret said. "Isn't that right?"

The fourth occupant of the room was already halfway through a glass of bourbon and looked worried. "Yes, I did say that," he said. "But of course it's up to Mr. Manchester."

Maddie's father rubbed his face again. "It's not either of the enemies you would expect," he said. "You see, our alliance with the Soviet Union is rather tenuous. For now, Stalin is happy to be on the same side as the rest of the Allies because the enemy of your enemy is your friend and all that, but we don't expect that to last long once the war finally ends, because they don't actually like us all that much. And in the meantime—" He glanced at both of them and sighed. "In the meantime, there are other factions in Russia that aren't particularly happy to be on our side even now. They don't even want to be on the Axis side either: they just want power for themselves, and one of the ways to achieve that would be to destabilize their rivals."

"Destabilize," Margaret said quietly. "Could that include targeting the head of the government?"

Maddie's father nodded. "Particularly if there were...a changeover in power," he said in a tone that Maddie thought was far too calm for the subject matter.

"I've heard rumors that the president is in poor health," Margaret said. "Nobody speaks about it much, but—you would know. Is it true?"

Maddie's father nodded once, quickly. "We suspect that at least one of the factions, led by a man known only as the Wolf, has agents inside the United States," he said. "If anything happens to President Roosevelt, for a few hours our country would be leaderless, until your father could be sworn in. We fear that it is during that time that the Wolf's men would strike, in an attempt to decapitate the government and remove a major rival from the board. Especially since we've now made so much progress on the Western Front that they might believe they can handle the rest of the war without our help. They might even be right."

"The Wolf," Margaret mused. "What do you mean, that it doesn't matter what's actually happening but what they think is happening?"

"Any men the Wolf has in D.C. will have to be keeping an extremely low profile," he said. Now that he was no longer pretending to be taking the day off, Maddie noticed that his hand had crept much closer to where his service revolver must be holstered. "They may not have accurate sources of information, particularly since the president has been in Georgia for several weeks now. If they think there is a possibility that the president has passed, they may move into position without waiting for confirmation, so that they can be ready to strike as soon as the news broadcast happens."

"Do you..." Margaret's voice was almost inaudible. She cleared her throat and started again. "Do you think I might be a target, or only my father? Should my mother be warned?"

"If nobody's fallen down on the job, there should be someone keeping an eye on your mother," Maddie's father said, and Margaret's eyes filled with relief. "I certainly hope that you would not be targeted, but we can't be too careful."

"There's another concern I must point out," Mr. Rayburn broke in, pouring himself a second glass of bourbon. "There's always a possibility that they will attempt to further undermine the government by targeting more than just the second in line to the presidency."

"Who's third in line?" Maddie asked. "Wait, let me think—I think I learned that in school."

"It's the Speaker of the House," Mr. Rayburn said with a wry smile. "Me."

"Are you suggesting we shouldn't stay here?" Maddie's father asked, hand now fully under his coat gripping onto a concealed gun.

"I think it would be wise." Mr. Rayburn set his glass down on the end table. "We shouldn't put all of their eggs in one basket for them. If anything happened and Miss Truman or Miss Manchester was hurt, I'd never forgive myself."

"Well, I _did_ promise Maddie dessert. But since Miss Truman is who I'm assigned to at the moment, I'll leave the decision up to her. Do you want to remain in the Capitol building, or adjourn to a restaurant I know of where we can get the best pie in D.C.?"

"When you put it like that, how can I refuse?" Margaret said with a smile, getting quickly to her feet. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Rayburn. And good luck."

"The same to you, Miss Truman," the Speaker said with a bow. "And to you, Miss Manchester. But you won't need luck, I'm sure, because your father's going to take good care of you both."

"Of course I will," Maddie's father said, and led the way out of the room.

In silence, they rode the underground monorail to the Senate Office Building and walked a little ways from there to where Maddie's father had parked their car. He kept glancing around the way he did when he was on duty: eyes darting about and always in motion, aware of every single person and object anywhere near them. Margaret pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders and didn't seem to have any idea of what to say.

They got in the car—with absolutely no evildoers in sight as far as Maddie was aware—and Maddie's father started driving, and still nobody said anything. Finally, Maddie decided that if anybody was going to break the silence it was going to have to be her. "So, what's your favorite type of pie?" she asked. "Mine's strawberry."

Margaret smiled, though the expression seemed rather forced. "Cherry, I think. Or pecan. They all have their points." She laughed suddenly, a harsh sound in the quiet. "I just go to college. I study history and take music lessons. I've never had to have anybody guard me. I've never had anybody want to kill me." She laughed again, and her voice got a bit more hysterical. "I'm just a senator's daughter. I'm not even used to my father being vice president yet, and now he might be—might be—" She didn't seem to be able to form the words. Maddie didn't think she could bring herself to say it, either. Roosevelt had been president since Maddie was four years old; it seemed unthinkable that he would ever not be.

Maddie reached out tentatively and patted Margaret on the hand. "If you have to be in danger, at least you've got the best Secret Service agent in the business looking after you," she said. "And I'm not a bad shot myself, though I don't know much about spotting evil Russians."

"You are _not_ taking a gun anywhere," her father said, spinning the wheel of their sedan with just as much accuracy as he used when shooting, and sliding neatly into a parking spot along the side of the road. "Here we are. I don't think we were followed, but you should both wait to get out until I come around to the sidewalk anyway."

Maddie figured that in this sort of situation, doing what the Secret Service agent told you to do was a very good idea, and Margaret seemed inclined to agree as well. They both sat quietly until Maddie's father got the car door for them, and then followed him quietly into the restaurant, and didn't interrupt when he politely argued with the waitress and talked her into giving them a table in the corner. (He sat on the outside where he could get up in an instant but angled his chair so that his back was nearly against the wall and he was facing the entrance.)

Maddie supposed she ought to feel safer to be under such vigilant protection, but instead she was beginning to feel a bit scared to have that much protection necessary. She wondered if Margaret felt the same way. "You're in luck, they have both cherry _and_ pecan," she said brightly in case Margaret needed the distraction. "Though maybe that's bad, because now you have a difficult decision ahead of you."

"What about you?" Margaret ran her finger down the list of pies. "They don't have strawberry. You didn't tell me what your second favorite type of pie is. Am I going to have to guess?"

Maddie grinned. "I think you'll have to, because I don't know either." She looked over the list herself. "I've never had chocolate cream pie, but I like chocolate."

"Oh, I've had chocolate cream pie," Margaret said. "One of my college friends had me over for Christmas last year and her mother made it. It's good. Though they'd been saving sugar rations for months to have a proper treat for Christmas, so the pie here probably wouldn't be as sweet as it ought to be; I'm sure they've reduced the sugar to the absolute minimum to still be edible. But if you like the taste of chocolate, you might still enjoy it."

"Oh, we use corn syrup," the waitress said. She had brought over a pot of coffee and now poured cups for all three of them. "We redid all of our recipes a year ago. It's the milk that was the biggest concern, but we finally bought a cow so now you can have all the chocolate cream pie you want, no ration stamps required."

Maddie craned her neck to look around the restaurant. "Where do you keep it?"

The waitress chuckled, and Margaret did too. "The owner's brother has a small farm in Maryland. Don't worry, there's no danger of it escaping and running down Capitol Mall anytime soon. So what'll it be?"

"I'll take the chocolate cream pie," Maddie said, and grinned. "Big surprise, I know."

"I never would have guessed," Margaret said. "I'll take pecan. I'm sure you all did a great job of redoing the recipes, but I think I'll stick with a pie that's already supposed to be made with corn syrup."

"Sounds good. And you, sir?"

Maddie's father didn't even glance away from the door to look at the menu. "Apple."

"Right, I'll have those all out for you shortly." She gathered up the menus and whisked them and the coffee pot away.

Maddie's father still seemed much more inclined to stare at the door and the other diners than to hold up any end of the conversation, so Maddie figured it was up to her. "So what's college like?" she asked.

"It's really fun," Margaret replied, and launched into an anecdote that lasted until their pie arrived. It involved three school chums of hers, a conveniently placed window, and quite a number of buckets of water, and both girls had dissolved into giggles by halfway through, so that Margaret could barely keep recounting her tale between bursts of laughter. (Maddie's father didn't even crack a smile. Maddie wondered if he was even aware of what Margaret was saying.)

The waitress brought the pie around just as Margaret reported that the final bucket of water had accidentally been emptied onto the head of the extremely stuffy philosophy dean and that they had fled wildly in all directions immediately thereafter.

"So do you do any actual studying?" Maddie asked, taking a forkful of her pie.

"Oh yes," Margaret said, still laughing. "I'm studying history, because I always enjoyed reading about it. But I'm also taking music lessons. I like to play piano and sing. Do you play any instruments?"

"I took piano lessons when I was little," Maddie said. "I don't remember very much of it anymore. You were right, chocolate cream pie is really good!"

"Mine's good too," Margaret said. "Do you want to try a bite?"

"Absolutely!" Maddie immediately stabbed away at Margaret's pie with her fork without waiting for her to ask twice. "You should try mine too, and tell me how it compares to your friend's Christmas pie."

Margaret reached her fork over for a bite. "Are you planning to go to college when you graduate high school? What are you now, a junior?"

"Yes, at Woodrow Wilson High. I'm taking the college prep track, but to be honest, I haven't thought all that much about whether I'll go to college."

"Do you know what you want to do with your life? Get married or get a job? I'm hoping I might be able to perform as a musician, though I haven't decided whether to focus on piano or voice yet."

"If I could do anything I wanted in the world with nobody to tell me I couldn't," Maddie said, gazing contemplatively at her next forkful of chocolate cream pie, "I think I might want to be a Secret Service agent like my father and grandfather. But nobody's going to hire a woman to do that."

"Not yet," Margaret said. "But maybe once you get done with college they might."

"Once I get done with college, hopefully the war will be over and all the men will come back home and there will be even fewer jobs for women than there are today." Maddie took a frustrated bite of pie. "I don't want to be a secretary."

"Surely the Secret Service has some sort of role that they'd want a woman in," Margaret said. "For example, if my dad ever, um, you know. Then I'd need to have people keeping an eye on me, and there would be times where it would attract much less attention and be more fun if I just had a friend accompanying me than some older man lurking by the wall. No offense, Mr. Manchester. I'm really glad you're here. But you have to admit Maddie's been much more of a conversationalist."

"None taken," Maddie's father said. It was the first he'd spoken since he'd ordered the apple pie (which he'd still only taken a few bites of).

"Are we just going to stay here all evening?" Margaret continued. "Do we know what's going on?"

"Hopefully everything's fine, but I was just thinking I ought to check in," he said. "You young ladies stay right here and I'll see if they have a phone I can use. If not, there's a telephone booth out front, but I'd prefer not to let you out of my sight."

They both nodded.

As soon as he stepped behind the counter to speak to the waitress, Maddie took advantage of the sudden absence of scrutiny to steal a bite of his apple pie. "Mmm, this is good. You should try it."

"You don't think your father would mind?"

"I'd say he'd never notice, but he's observant enough that I suppose he probably would. But no, I don't think he'd particularly mind. He hasn't exactly been eating it like a man who cares desperately about pie." Maddie grabbed Margaret's fork, used it to spear a bite of apple pie, cupped her hand under it as the pie crust started flaking off and breaking in every direction, and set what remained of the bite on Margaret's plate. "See, you didn't even touch his plate, so if it's anybody's fault that a little bit of his pie went missing, it's mine."

Margaret grinned and ate the bite of pie, while Maddie swept the crust crumbs from her hand onto her own plate (and then immediately scooped them up with her fork because it wouldn't do to let them go to waste). "You're right, it's good."

Maddie's father came bustling back to the table. "Your father is well," he told Margaret in that calm tone he'd used in the gallery, the one that wouldn't carry one foot farther than he meant for it to. "There was a bit of a car chase on the way to, ah, his destination though, so we have confirmation that something's afoot, though no confirmation as to who." He sat back down in his seat, eyes flicking from person to person in the half-full restaurant without pause. "They're sending a few more agents to retrieve us and take you somewhere safer."

"But you're sure my father's completely all right?"

He nodded.

"What about the president?" Maddie put in.

"We should probably save any more discussion until after we've adjourned elsewhere," he said, absently taking a bite of apple pie (using his left hand, Maddie noticed, while his right hand still lingered near his concealed gun). "Are you both ready to leave as soon as they arrive?"

"If they're going to be a few minutes, I'd like to powder my nose before we leave," Maddie said.

"Then go now," her father told her. "And come right back."

Maddie nodded and stood up. As she crossed the restaurant's main dining room, she did her best to emulate the gaze she always saw her father use: seeing everything, constantly glancing every which way, but without letting on that one was noticing anything at all.

Halfway across the room, she noticed a man with a tattoo on his wrist and was suddenly very hard put to hide the fact that she had seen him. She dropped her eyes to the ground in too much of a hurry, and decided she wouldn't look around anymore for the time being. But she couldn't go back to the table now or it would be obvious that she'd seen the man. And maybe it was nothing. Perhaps the tattoo she'd seen wasn't even a wolf at all, but a dog or a coyote, or, or...

She wasn't fooling herself. The man in the dining room definitely had a tattoo of a wolf on his wrist, and she didn't think that was a coincidence. And if he was one of the Wolf's men, then that meant her father and Margaret (and probably Maddie herself) were in more danger than they had thought. Hurrying down the narrow hall off of the main dining room, Maddie shoved open the door to the ladies' powder room and leaned heavily against the sink. She'd never had her life at risk before, but suddenly the danger seemed all too real.

If her father were here, he wouldn't waste any time staring at a mirror in terror, and so Maddie shouldn't either. She used the toilet as quickly as possible, and while washing her hands she splashed a bit of water on her face as well, hoping that freshening up would help to hide the fear in her eyes. Finally, she pulled her best weapon out of the slim side pocket of her pink wool blazer. Lipstick, Maddie had always felt certain, was essential to a girl's self-defense. As she refreshed the blood red tint on her mouth, she wasn't sure if it made her feel any better, but it definitely made her _look_ less scared. She examined her reflection in the mirror. She didn't look like a girl who had just seen a wolf, and that was all she could hope for. Slipping the lipstick back into her pocket (and wishing she had a gun like her father, though her blazer wouldn't conceal one nearly as effectively as his suit coat did), she opened the powder room door and once again walked all the way across the restaurant. Except this time, the journey seemed to last forever, as she knew what she was walking past.

Margaret smiled up at Maddie as she sat back down, and Maddie winced. She didn't want to have to be the bearer of bad news, but at least being well informed was better than being caught by surprise.

Her father, ever observant, noticed her expression right away. Maddie hoped he couldn't tell quite how scared she was, but knowing him, he probably could. She sat down with her back to the room, in case the tattooed man knew how to read lips. "I walked past a man with a tattoo on his wrist," she whispered. "I only got a glimpse of it, but it looked like a wolf, eating some sort of bird. Could that have anything to do with the Wolf that you mentioned?"

"Act like everything's normal," he said impassively. Glancing around for the waitress, he waved her over. "Could we please get refills on our coffee?"

The three of them made extremely awkward conversation for the next couple of minutes. Both Maddie and Margaret—who looked even more frightened than Maddie felt—struggled to come up with anything to say, while Maddie's father seemed just as preoccupied as he had been before. Finally, he sipped at his coffee (still only using his left hand) and cleared his throat. "That hall leads to the powder room, but if you keep going to the end you'll come to the kitchen. Miss Truman, stand up as if you're going to powder your nose, and then ask Maddie if she wants to accompany you. Both of you go all the way down the hall and into the kitchen. I'll be close behind you."

"We'll have to walk right past him," Maddie said.

"You'll be okay. Go."

"All right," Margaret said softly. She stood up, turned as if she was going to walk away, then turned back to Maddie. "Do you mind coming with me?" she asked, doing her best to smile though her face was pale.

"Of course." Maddie stood up and followed Margaret across the room. She kept her eyes moving, looking at everybody and everything so that the tattooed man wouldn't catch her looking at him. The few times that her eyes did momentarily fall on him, he didn't seem to be looking at her; she hoped that meant he didn't realize anything was amiss. Maybe he wasn't even here for them after all.

The hall seemed a thousand times longer than it had been before, but finally they got to the end. Maddie followed Margaret through the door into the kitchen, and realized she had no idea what they were going to do next. So she just clasped her hands behind her back and stood there. Margaret did the same thing, and for a few moments nobody in the busy kitchen said anything.

"Hey! You can't be back here. Rosa, tell your friends to leave." Unfortunately, it didn't take long for a man on the other side of the kitchen to notice them, and Maddie's father was still nowhere to be found.

"We're not friends of Rosa's. The Secret Service told us to wait back here," Margaret said, as the man pushed his way towards them through the crowded kitchen. "They're coming to retrieve us. They'll be here in just a minute and then we won't bother you further."

"The Secret Service?" exclaimed the waitress who had served them earlier (who was apparently named Rosa), her eyes wide. "Are you—um—"

"We really shouldn't say," Maddie said. "It's better if you don't know too much."

"The Secret Service guards President Roosevelt and catches forgers," the man said. "It doesn't guard little girls."

"But Bobby, can't we just give them a minute?" Rosa asked. "It might be our patriotic duty."

"Fat chance," said Bobby. He had finally reached where they were standing, and looked like he might be considering throwing them out bodily. But before he could say anything further, there was the sound of scattered gunfire, and the back door of the kitchen burst in. Rosa and Margaret shrieked (if Maddie was honest with herself, she had shrieked just as loud as they had). Bobby turned around to stare wide-eyed at the back door. Maddie shoved him to get down as she herself dove behind one of the prep tables. She wished her father had let her have a gun. She could really use a weapon right about now.

But on the other hand, she was in a kitchen, and kitchens had a decent selection of weapons.

She could hear the sound of gunfire from the dining room now, too, and Maddie hoped that her father was not only all right but headed their way. She crawled down the aisle of the kitchen, away from Margaret and the others and towards a knife block that was just visible from her position on the floor. She'd thrown knives a few times before on trips to the country, but never a kitchen knife. But there was a first time for anything. And hopefully she could draw them away from Margaret, who was sure to be their actual target. That was what Secret Service agents did, and if Maddie was going to put herself in danger she might as well do it following in her father's and grandfather's footsteps. She crouched next to the last table, reached up near-blindly and flailed about until her hands seized on one of the handles. Then as smoothly as she could, she jumped to her feet, swinging the knife into a throwing position as she went, threw the knife at the closest gunman she saw, and flung herself back onto the floor. She heard a scream and a thud, but also the whistle and ping of a bullet coming far too close to her.

Across the room near where they'd originally been standing, Bobby and Rosa had opened the door to what Maddie was pretty sure was a walk-in refrigerator. Maybe she could buy them time. She groped again for the knife block, and then the door to the hallway slammed open. Not all the way, just enough for her father to be able to see into the kitchen while still taking cover behind the door. He fired three quick shots towards the gunmen at the back of the kitchen. Two of them collapsed, and the others fell back to take cover behind the outer door that they had come in through.

Margaret was beckoning to Maddie from the refrigerator doorway. Grabbing the entire knife block and hugging it to her chest, Maddie crouched low and ran for the refrigerator.

Behind her, she heard her father fire three more shots, and then suddenly he was right next to her, helping Bobby to shove the refrigerator door shut. "Block the door with anything you can," he said. "Backup is on the way; we just need to buy time until they get here." With quick motions, he emptied the spent rounds out of his revolver and reloaded them with cartridges he retrieved from his pocket. As soon as he was done, he handed the gun to Maddie—"If anyone comes busting in here, shoot them. The good guys will identify themselves and not just break in," he said—and produced a second, smaller, gun from his pocket that he proceeded to reload as well.

"So are you really Secret Service?" Bobby asked, shoving a shelving unit in front of the door while Rosa handed round knives from the knife block that Maddie had brought. "Who are those people and what are they after?"

"Yes, I am," Maddie's father said, producing his badge from somewhere inside his coat and showing it to Bobby. "Sorry about the damage; I'm sure the government will pay for everything. Do you know the story of Abraham Lincoln's assassination, that there were several assassins who also went after Vice President Johnson and Secretary of State Seward, though John Wilkes Booth was the only one who succeeded in killing his target?"

"I suppose," Bobby said.

"We suspect that the same thing might be happening right now. This is the vice president's daughter." He waved his hand vaguely in the direction where Maddie and Margaret were both standing, and Maddie tried to look less vice-president's-daughter and more Secret-Service-agent's-daughter so the restaurant staff wouldn't be confused. (She figured the gun in her hand was the least vice-president's-daughter part of her outfit, so she continued to brandish it. It was a bit more Secret-Service-agent than Secret-Service-agent's-daughter, though. She wondered, if she ever convinced her father to let her have a gun of her own, if she'd be able to decorate it to be a bit more sparkly and pink and a bit less effective but boring.)

There was a very loud banging outside the refrigerator door, and everybody readied their weapons. "Miss Truman, get under that shelf in the corner and stay there," Maddie's father said. His gun was trained on the door. "Maddie, sweetheart, you're doing fine."

Maddie tried to stand as calm and still as he was. She remembered seeing the man she'd thrown the knife at start to fall, and thought about doing that again, but this time with a gun. She didn't particularly like the idea of hurting someone like that, but then they wanted to hurt her new friend, and all these innocent people who hadn't even known that the vice president's daughter was here. She could see the door start to give as the banging continued; she winced but didn't step back.

Then there were more gunshots outside—a lot more, all at once, and then nothing but silence.

"Is that...good?" Rosa asked. She was crouching in the corner next to Margaret, with a big butcher's knife clutched in her hand.

"Hopefully," Maddie's father said, but he didn't lower his gun.

"Secret Service!" someone yelled outside, and still Maddie's father kept his gun pointed right at the door, so Maddie did too.

"Is everyone okay in there?" someone else yelled. "Mike? It's Burt."

That seemed to finally be enough confirmation for Maddie's father, who let his gun fall to his side. "We're okay," he yelled back, then turned to Bobby. "We can go ahead and clear the doorway now, if you'll give me a hand."

Together, they moved the shelving unit and other piled items away from the door, and opened it to find the kitchen swarming with men in suits.

"I guess you're definitely Secret Service all right," Bobby said, surveying the mess of his kitchen with hands on his hips. "Rosa, take the rest of the day off. I think we'll be closing early."

"I think it would be best if you closed right now," one of the newly arrived agents said. "You can't exactly cook with bodies all over the floor. And we'll be wanting to keep this quiet. But don't worry, we'll pay for all of your damages."

After looking over the entire kitchen, Maddie's father holstered his gun and walked back over to her. "Are you all right?" he asked, giving her a tight hug.

Maddie grinned. It was a lot easier to smile, now that it was all over and there was nothing to be afraid of anymore. Besides, she had a loaded gun in her hand and bright red lipstick on her mouth (which probably needed touching up, come to think of it; she handed the gun back to her father and retrieved her lipstick and compact mirror from her blazer pocket), so she was pretty sure she could handle anything.

Margaret walked over to the Manchesters, brushing off her skirt as she went. "Is being a Secret Service agent's daughter always this exciting?" she asked Maddie.

"Not always," Maddie said. "Actually, never. You met me on an unusual day."

"It's been an unusual day for me, too," Margaret said. "And if I ever have a Secret Service detail assigned to me, I want you on it. I don't care if you're not officially in the Secret Service; after all, you achieved more than a lot of them did today."

"That's just because I was here and they weren't," Maddie said.

"And that made all the difference," Margaret said. "And maybe you could teach me how to throw a knife like that."

"Any time," Maddie said. "Dad, Margaret and I will be able to visit sometimes, right?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you'll be seeing a lot more of each other nowadays," he said, and something in his tone made Maddie realize that he was confirming what they'd wondered about earlier: Margaret was the president's daughter now. "We're all wanted back at the White House," he added. "Yes, even you, Maddie. Mr. Truman asked for you by name."

"If he hadn't, then I would have," Margaret said. "Once you've shared a near-death experience, it's normal to become fast friends, right?"

"Absolutely," Maddie said. She followed them out of the kitchen and into one of the cars that was waiting to take them to the White House.

Maddie had seen the White House in newspaper photos and even walked past it quite a few times, but she'd never been inside it before. Neither had Margaret or her mother, it turned out, so Maddie joined them to stand near a wall feeling slightly overwhelmed as everyone bustled around finding a Bible and a judge and a photographer for the swearing-in.

Maddie's father joined them after a minute, accompanied by both Mr. Truman and Mr. Weatherley.

"Glad you're all right," Mr. Weatherley said, as Mr. Truman hugged Margaret tight. "I'm very sorry we weren't better informed about what we were up against. If I could do it again I would have had all three of you under much more protection."

"Fortunately, I can't imagine anyone better to have with me than who I did have," Margaret said.

"I'm glad," Mr. Weatherley said. "Miss Manchester, my apologies for putting you in danger as well. I assure you your father would never have dragged you along for this if we'd thought there was a high chance of any sort of risk."

"Well," Maddie said, "Margaret told me near-death experiences are conducive to becoming friends, so at least I got a new friend out of it all. And some pie."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I hope you all understand that we can't let the Wolf's faction know how close they came to succeeding. We've already spoken to the restaurant staff about not telling anyone what happened. The official story will be that it was an attempted hold-up that was quickly stopped due to the heroic interference of a civilian bystander. And you, Miss Truman, Miss Manchester, were of course never there."

"And I suppose you and Mr. Truman weren't in a car chase either?" Maddie asked.

"Quite right. It really wasn't much of a car chase, though, so that part will be easy to cover up. The restaurant has enough bullet holes that it will draw more attention, but we'll pay for prompt repairs and pick out a compelling civilian bystander who makes for a great story. And besides, everyone will be paying far more attention to the news of what is about to happen here, so that gives us more leeway than we would have on a slow news day."

Even as he spoke, Chief Justice Stone was escorted into the room by another Secret Service man, and someone else hurried into the room with a Gideon Bible. "This is the only Bible I could find," he said to the room at large. "Will it suffice?"

"It's fine," said the chief justice, turning to the Trumans. "If you will?"

Mr. Truman nodded and joined him on the other side of the room, but the ladies lingered behind for a moment. Mrs. Truman patted Maddie's hand. "I'm sure my husband and your father will be here into the wee hours of the night, and I do hope you'll stay for a while as well," she said. "Margaret and I will be finding our way in a new place, and we'd appreciate the company." Margaret nodded her agreement.

"It's not as if I had anything else planned for this evening," Maddie said. "I'll stay as long as my dad does."

Someone was beckoning urgently at them, and Mrs. Truman and Margaret hurried across the room to join the president.

A photographer had set up a tripod in the middle of the room and proceeded to direct everyone where to stand: the Chief Justice and the Trumans in the center of the wall underneath a portrait of Woodrow Wilson; an assortment of men in suits (and one equally solemn woman) to both sides of them. Maddie recognized Mr. Rayburn from earlier; he looked fine and she wondered if he'd had any adventures, as everyone else at their gathering had.

"Who is everybody?" Maddie whispered to her father. He was leaning against the wall as if he planned to stay there for quite some time, and she figured her place was with him.

"Cabinet members, mostly," he whispered back. "And Senate and House leaders."

"Is that lady in the Cabinet?"

"Yes, that's Frances Perkins, the Secretary of Labor."

"What about—" Maddie had intended to ask about the only other woman in the room, but then she turned slightly in their direction and Maddie realized that she'd seen her in newspaper photos. "Is that Mrs. Roosevelt?"

Her father nodded. "I've spent months of my life guarding her," he murmured. "Now this may very well be the last time I see her."

"I suppose that's just the way your job is," Maddie mused. Now that Mrs. Roosevelt was facing them, Maddie could see that she was blinking back tears.

"Still want to do it when you grow up, like you said earlier?"

"So you _were_ listening."

"Every word."

"Well like Margaret said, I really ought to go to college first, so that will give me time to decide. But I think I might. Today wasn't very much fun but we got to help people, right? So that was good."

"Yes, it was," her father said. Then the chief justice started speaking and everyone else quickly was quiet.

The chief justice was facing away from Maddie and she couldn't hear him clearly, but she could hear the president's responses.

"I, Harry S Truman, do solemnly swear...that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States...and will to the best of my ability...preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States...so help me God."

The president and the chief justice shook hands. They both looked solemn, and everyone around them looked positively grim. Maddie's father placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

Maddie wondered if he might have to take a bullet for one of these people someday. That was his job, after all. She wondered, if she and Margaret continued to become friends, if that would make it easier or harder if he got hurt for them someday.

Well, perhaps she would find out the answer to that and perhaps she wouldn't. (She hoped she wouldn't.) But either way, she was pretty sure she was going to learn a lot over the next four years, and it wasn't all going to be at high school and college.

She put her arm around her father's shoulders and squeezed back. "They're going to keep the country safe, and we're going to keep them safe," she said. "Right?"

"That's the plan," he said. "And if you and I have anything to say about it, both they and the country are going to be just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> A few historical visuals, for those interested:  
> [Brumidi Corridors of the Capitol](https://www.aoc.gov/explore-capitol-campus/buildings-grounds/capitol-building/senate-wing/brumidi-corridors)  
> [The Speaker's room (H-128)](https://clotureclub.com/2012/05/cloture-detective-h-128/)  
> [Truman's swearing in](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_inauguration_of_Harry_S._Truman#/media/File:Harry_S._Truman_taking_the_oath_of_office.jpg) ([alternate shot with Margaret visible](https://i2.wp.com/www.defensemedianetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Harry-S-Truman-Oath.jpg))


End file.
